Fairwinds 2005

Ireland - At Last

I'd first met Donald when he and I crewed aboard Avilion on The Chentlemens' Cruise. He 'phoned me last week and asked if I'd like to crew on his Bruce Roberts 34 Shard, on a cruise to Rathlin from Ardrossan. This seemed like an excellent opportunity to redeem my failure to reach Cork from the Solent a couple of weeks ago.

I joined Donald and Charlotte aboard in Clyde Marina, Ardrossan at 1900 on Thursday and we were under way in an hour or so. The wind was F4 on the nose (does this sound familiar?) and we tacked SW for Pladda on the southern tip of Arran in a lumpy sea. Excellent conditions for getting to know a new boat and I was allowed to monopolise the helm to begin with, using the excuse that I should get my hand in before sunset.

I was happy to find that Shard sails much like a bigger version of Silkie with a very similar long fin and skeg underwater profile. A slightly greater beam/length ratio means that she is not so tender initially but she yields to the puffs with much the same grace and the helm remains beautifully balanced. This is not something that can always be said of the good ship Silkie. The rudder had authority and she inspired confidence immediately. She could often be left to sail on the wind without a hand on the tiller for ten minutes or so despite the conditions.

Skipper wisely decided that it wasn't a lone watch kind of wind and he and I stood the first as darkness fell. It wasn't long before we had talked ourselves into anchoring for the rest of the night. We held port tack to sail in behind Holy Isle, dropped the hook off Lamlash at 0030 and turned in after a couple of drams in the cockpit.

An 0730 start on Friday saw us motorsailing down the east coast of Arran while we breakfasted. Rounding Pladda light let us sail the course to go south of Sanda in F3-4. Our timing was now a bit out and the current was against us so we gave the Mull a wide berth and began the slog across the North Channel against a couple of knots of current. The wind had fallen light and progress was hard won. Eventually the wind freshened again and the current relented but it was a couple of hours after slack water as we approached Rathlin Island.

This is less than ideal and it was with some trepidation that we scanned the horizon for the fearsome "slough na morra" as we entered Rathlin Sound. We saw the line of breakers soon enough and seamanlike precautions were taken aboard Shard. It seemed at first that the line was broken about a third of the way south of it's northern end and (since we had to make a large clockwise circuit of the bay to follow the eddy) that we would be able to slip throught the gap. But we reckoned without the speed of the current that carried us towards them and it quickly became obvious that they couldn't be avoided. We took them on the nose and although we seemed at times to be more nearly vertical than horizontal we were soon through, and much relieved.

We continued our circuitous approach to the miniature harbour which nestles inside the more recently constructed outer breakwater in the crook of the L-shaped island.

My guiding principle in these situations is that if there is any chance of grounding or collision then the skipper should helm his own boat but my pleas fell on deaf ears and I was "allowed the glory" of bringing her in. The inner harbour is so small that the berthed ferry must partially block the entrance. We squeezed through with less than a metre clearance and then had to make an immediate right-angled turn to starboard since the shore side of the harbour is too shallow for us. We were rafted alongside a 60yo converted wooden naval supply vessel Wilmiranda by 2130. A celebratory brandy was consumed as we tidied ourselves up and we were in the pub by 2200, just as the evening was beginning to warm up.

 It was Rathlin's festival week and this was the excuse for our trip since Donald had been invited to join the musicians in McCuaig's bar. This really deserves a blog entry of its own but suffice it to say that Donald's mandolin and bazouki made a fine contribution to the joyous ensemble and even I felt moved to join the singing occasionally. It had been a long day for us and we left early at 0300 (the party continued 'til after five) for a nightcap aboard. Why does that always seem like such a good idea?

An 0000 Sunday departure was planned so we allowed ourselves a late start on Saturday and the day was spent in a leisurely exploration of the island. The excellent wee museum was very informative and is definitely worth an hour or two of anyone's time. It's free but be sure to leave a donation. "Slough na morra" was translated here for me as "swallow of the sea" because of it's habit of swallowing unwary vessels. The chip van is also highly recommended and was very professionally run (I've never before seen such an establishment use a temperature probe) by two friendly young ladies, one of whom had personally landed some of the fish that morning!

Friendly and welcoming doesn't really do justice to the atmosphere of this island whose permanent population numbers less than a hundred souls. Our welcome may have been especially warm because of Donald's contribution to the entertainments but it seemed impossible to walk more than 100m without stopping for a chat with someone. Graham was the accordian player and a regular visitor from Gigha in his stout wee converted open boat Jamie Boy which had originally been the Gigha foot passenger ferry.

The arrival of a centre-cockpit Westerly Corsair Slioch provided a particularly fine demonstration of seamanship. With a wonderfully delicate touch on the throttle her skipper berthed in the now very crowded harbour in a space only inches longer than Slioch herself using an impressive wind-powered ferry glide. Not to be outdone we decided to warp Shard around in preparation for our departure. Though they stopped short of applauding, I'm positive that the audience were at least entertained if not, perhaps, hugely impressed! After a couple of early evening pints I turned in for an hour or two, prior to our departure.

We slipped our lines at 0040 and set off motoring across a glassy bay in the absence of the forecast SW F3/4. We used a waypoint to keep us south of the TSS but a large vessel emerging from the TSS on a constant bearing for more than half an hour gave us an anxious time. Although we were the stand-on vessel, by the time we could see the whites of their eyes we decided it would be prudent to slow down. They probably altered for us at the same time and passed comfortably ahead.

Skipper went below for a nap and our next nocturnal encounter was off the Mull with HMS Monmouth whose Securite announcement  on CH16 informed us that she was on a dived submarine excercise. Daybreak off Sanda was followed by breakfast and I went below for a couple of hours. By the time I awoke we were off Holy Isle and the forecast SW wind was putting in an appearance. We tried out Shard's new twin headsail foil in the freshening breeze and our initial three knots on a dead run built to over six as we approached Ardrossan. We dropped one sail and rolled the genoa down to a scrap to slow down to let the ferry out and were safely back alongside by 1340.

Many thanks to Donald and Charlotte for a marvellous sail on the wonderful Shard. I'm now a fully paid up member of the Rathlin fan club and am already making plans to return on Silkie!

Miles this trip 140

Miles this season 641 (s/h 93)

Ireland - Not Quite

I'd been offered a place crewing on the delivery of Glen Rosa, a Beneteau Oceanis 331, from the Solent to Cork. Her skipper Jim and first mate Douglas are both very experienced sailors while Hywel and myself have fewer miles on the log and this was to be my first proper passage.

Wednesday 29th June

My plane was delayed several hours (some bad weather about apparently!) and it was 2300 by the time I was aboard Glen Rosa in Hythe Marina so we locked out into Southampton Water without further delay. We motor-sailed into the Solent and Jim and I stood the first watch while Douglas and Hywel attempted to get some sleep.

This was my first night sail and it was quite a change from the west coast of Scotland. Even at this time of night there were vessels large and small, ferries fast and faster, lines of winking reds and greens and the whole panoply of cardinals, isolated danger and safe water marks. My late arrival had put the tide against us and we were making less than 4 knots over the ground so we decided to go for a buoy in Newton Creek to get our heads down for a couple of hours and wait out the rest of the foul tide.

There is a safe-water mark outside but apart from that it was a pitch dark entry between shingle banks with only a compass course and quick flashes from a powerful torch for comfort as we sought an unoccupied mooring buoy. A sharpish manouevre to avoid said shingle bank brought Douglas on deck to assist. We eventually realised that all buoys were occupied and anchored in indecently thin water sometime after 0300. Skipper started rattling pans at about 0530 and produced a serious fry-up which was to have consequences later.

Thursday 30th June

We were under way by 0630 and set off motor-sailing into F4/5 out past the Needles and into the English Channel. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of sailing here I offer the following observations:

1. The wind is F4 or F5 on the nose.

2. The sea and the sky are grey.

3. Visibility is approximately one mile and land is only occasionally glimpsed as sticky-out bits that get in the way.

4. There is a short chop of 1-2 metre waves on top of an underlying swell from a different direction.

5. Licking your beard will enable you to determine whether you are being lashed by rain or spray.

I decided to try a nap in the cockpit (another first) and stretched out on the lee side to doze for 20 minutes or so. I woke up in a hurry and headed for the lee rail where I had to jettison some of the skipper's breakfast. I felt immediately revived and had just settled on the high side when Hywel appeared from below to stage a similar performance. Neither of us had ever previously suffered. Five minutes later our skipper also had a quick dry boak. Only Iron Man Douglas seemed unaffected.

We passed outside the St. Alban's Head spit as the tide turned against us. Since some of the crew had had only 3 hours sleep in the past 30 hours by this point, it was decided to set a course for Weymouth and save Lyme Bay for the morrow.

This brings me to the most remarkable aspect of the whole cruise. I've never before seen so many people spend so much time partially conscious while under way. We stretched out in the cockpit and fell asleep. We propped ourselves under the sprayhood and dozed off. We went below for a quick nap. I had to fight to keep my eyes open sometimes while on watch. Hywel was particularly able in this respect. On one occasion he succumbed to slumber while fetching some pasties from the oven. On another (although he swears he was only resting his eyes) he nodded off while standing on the companionway steps. The motion was certainly tiring and the total age of the crew about two centuries but the power-napping seemed to border on the ridiculous. In retrospect I suppose the late nights and early starts may have had something to do with it.

The pressure to "make miles" was off since we had chosen an easy destination for the night so the donkey was silenced and I had my first shot at helming Glen Rosa under sail. What an embarassment! It appears that the hull characteristics of a Beneteau are strikingly dissimilar to those of a Hurley. On Silkie it is clear when to reef since water will be streaming over the cockpit coaming. On Glen Rosa however a digital readout tells the cognoscenti what's going on but a naive helm ends up with the rudder against the stop before the penny drops. Well, that's my excuse anyway.

Somehow we reached Weymouth Harbour safely and entered between two square-riggers.

First class showers at the HM's premises. The skipper's spaghetti bolognaise was followed by a run ashore (two Hurley 22s in the part of the harbour we explored) and a small libation.

Friday 1st July

An 0600 rise this morning to catch slack water for the inside passage around Portland Bill. Despite near-perfect timing the race was quite impressive off to port with large lumps of white-capped water rearing up seemingly at random. We had left Weymouth in brilliant sunshine (sunscreen was applied) but as we buoy-dodged within spitting distance of the Bill the weather closed in again and the course to clear Start Point put the F4/5 on the nose along with the accompanying short chop.

As we crossed Lyme Bay the engine revs suddenly dropped and a slick of partially burnt diesel was ejected from the exhaust accompanied by the smell of burning. Skipper and first mate investigated the engine room but nothing untoward was found and on we went. Rounding Prawle Point gave us a slant on the wind and a series of alternating short and long boards with a reef in the main allowed us to sail into Plymouth Sound at about 2130.

We seemed to pick up something round the prop as we manoeuvred in Queen Anne's Battery (not the cleanest of waters) and the skipper went off to try to arrange a diver for the morning but the rope cutter eventually dealt with the problem. Had we in fact picked up something in Lyme Bay which the rope-cutter had chewed through but engaging reverse in the marina had drawn the remains back into the prop? The marina bar had stopped serving food but an obliging local curry house was found to deliver to the marina. A small libation was taken.

Saturday 2nd July

We set off for Falmouth (grey, wet, short chop, F4/5 on the nose in case you were wondering) to refuel and get the latest weather before making the final decision about crossing St. George's Channel. With a forecast for F6 occasionally F7 the skipper reluctantly decided that it wasn't worth the risk. Fajitas aboard in Port Pendennis Marina were followed by a run ashore. A small libation was taken in the Cutty Sark pub which may be slightly down-at-heel but deserves a special mention since the round cost less than £8. Returning aboard for a nightcap, a lively debate about the weather ensued and this included the appearance of a laptop at 0300 to download the latest weatherfax via SSB. Skipper had the last word but it's not suitable for a family audience.

Sunday 3rd July

A beautiful day and we went sailing just for fun along with everything else in the area that was capable of floating. I now understand why YBW ColRegs threads get so heated. We sailed up the Carrick Roads past King Harry's Ferry before turning and heading back down and across Falmouth Bay to Helford. Short-tacking up the Helford River sharpened crew co-ordination and produced big cheesy grins all round. The skipper demonstrated his trapezing technique without the aid of a trapeze.

Another spectacular culinary creation aboard was followed by a small libation in the Shipwright's Arms.

Monday 4th July

We sailed back to Pendennis Marina (my helming was slightly improved by now) and squeezed Glen Rosa into the inner harbour where she'll be snug until Jim can return for another shot at the crossing.

An excellent trip, beautiful boat, fine company and lots of new experiences. What more need be said apart from thanks to Jim for inviting me and to Douglas and Hywel for being such congenial shipmates. Hope you make it to Cork next time Jim.

Miles this trip 216

Miles this season 501 (s/h 93)

Sailing with a Hero

I had met the Mackies before the start of the season (see Real Sailing Heroes) and we'd kept in touch, so I was delighted when Ian and his 10 year old son Iain came aboard Silkie last Friday evening for a sail. It was to be Iain's first sail on a yacht so a modest passage plan was in order and a forecast suggesting no more than F4 for the weekend was perfect. An eleventh-hour family situation requiring that the crew be back ashore by Sunday lunchtime was the final factor in the equation and we settled for an overnight in Puilldobhrain, again. I'm starting to understand why it's such a popular spot!

From my point of view, the main purpose of the weekend was to hear some of Ian's yarns and pick up a few Hurley sailing tips. Ian's aim, I'm sure, was to get young Iain hooked on sailing and so recruit another ally on the home front to his campaign for a new 22. By all criteria, the weekend was to be a resounding success.

With winds forecast N backing NW F3/4 we set off in a light southerly in brilliant sunshine at about 1000 on Saturday morning. In a virtual replay of conditions on my last trip with Paul the wind picked up after we tacked to go southwest down the Firth of Lorne before dying again north of Bach Island. Soup and rolls were followed by the re-appearance of the wind and we enjoyed a close reach across the last few miles to Puilldobhrain. Although young Iain had looked slightly concerned at the angle of heel when we were on the wind (Silkie's delight is to sail with her gunwhale kissing the water in anything from F3 up) he was plainly reassured by his Dad's pleasure in the sailing. In fact, when asked later how he had enjoyed his first sail he declared it "the best day of my life!" It must be in his blood.

We were the third boat in to Puilldobhrain though numbers went up to seventeen or eighteen later and as we "soaked the hook" with a couple of beers a dinghy rowed over from one of the later arrivals. Pete is Vice-commodore of St. Mary's Loch Sailing Club (I'm still a member - honest!) and had our Commodore, Stewart, aboard his Moody Sea Breeze. I noticed a boat enter, turn round and leave and it turned out (he txt me later) that this was Cap'n Dave (single-handed on Kiri) who had taught my family to be Competent Crew some years earlier.

The Mackies and I went over the hill for dinner in the T'n'T. I heard many of Ian's yarns over the course of the weekend about their (he and his wife) Atlantic crossing in Raggles, and about their five years as charter skippers in the Caribbean. All were entertaining, most were educational and some, like the one which might have been subtitled "How to Cope with F10 in a Hurley 22", I sincerely hope will be perfectly useless!

The Hurley gets a terrific reputation for seaworthiness but such oft-repeated views leave me with a lingering unease. Reading magazine reviews of the 22 down the decades which repeat the same well-worn phrases while propounding the same factual errors makes me wonder how many of the reviewers actually sailed a Hurley, never mind in the range of conditions necessary to form a real opinion of her abilities. While my own limited experience has always been reassuring (I'm the worrying type) and has tended to confirm the reputation, listening to Ian, who definitely has the T-shirt as well as an unshakeable faith in this little ship, carries a lot more weight than a stack of magazines. The fact that he has skippered a wide variety of yachts professionally, is a naval architect/surveyor to trade and still wants another Hurley is enough to convince me.

Sunday dawned fair but windless and we motored up Kerrera Sound. Ian amused himself by whipping the ragged ends of every warp in the cockpit lockers (thanks Ian) while young Iain kept himself entertained at the pulpit by pointing out every jelly fish we passed. The tillerpilot steered and I kept watch and I can now identify the Moon jelly and  Lion's Mane jelly (thanks Iain).

As we emerged from Oban Bay we found ourselves overhauling a larger yacht (OK, so she only had her genoa out) on a very broad reach, F2ish. Our main was just blanketing a wee bit of our genoa but because the wind was so light it was enough to prevent it drawing properly. Ian's competitive spirit was clearly roused and I could say nothing that would stop him taking the long boathook on to the coachroof and poling the genoa out to leeward. That, and putting up the sprayhood (!) was easily worth a quarter of a knot. As we passed the other boat I couldn't resist hailing her skipper and telling him that he'd made my day since we rarely find ourselves the overtaking vessel! He laughed (in a kindly sort of way) and threatened to raise his main. The wind drew aft. We goosewinged the sails and hurtled towards the horizon at well over 4 knots! It's the little things that make the difference.

After I'd said goodbye to Ian and his son at Dunstaffnage I bumped into Jack and Yvonne Seed who'd turned me into a  Day Skipper aboard their Westerly Sea Dawn and who were again on their regular Scottish summer circuit.

Not many miles but a cracking weekend and one I hope we'll repeat.

Off to the Western Approaches next - no, really!

Miles this trip 25

Miles this season 285 (s/h 93)

It's a Small World - is it no' jist?

As well as bumping into Pete & Stewart, Cap'n Dave (nearly) and Jack & Yvonne, it turns out that Ian knows our friends Rob & Lynda, who are slowly circumnavigating in their Samson Maverick of Clyde, currently at anchor in Grenada. Spooky or what?

Learning Curve

Just back from a long weekend aboard Silkie with an old mate, Paul. It's twenty years since we shared a flat and it appears that he's done more than a bit of sailing in the intervening period (though not for a few years) including a Round Britain, a couple of St. Kildas and even a few trips in a Hurley 22.

Friday

We set off for Easdale from Dunstaffnage on Friday morning in brilliant sunshine and headed across the Firth of Lorne on port tack in light winds to get a slant to take us south. After a couple of miles at less than three knots we tacked and at that moment the wind woke up. We accelerated out of the tack a point or so free with the log in the high fives and tore off down the Firth. Paul's grin alone was worth the price of admission. Just as suddenly, we lost the wind completely an hour or so later just north of Bach Island. The kettle went on and we bobbed about while we drank a cuppa, before giving in and firing up the trusty two-stroke.

This was my first visit to Easdale and although it would be low water (revealing the hazards I hoped) a careful study of the pilot was called for. "..Of the beacons which formerly marked rocks in the sound, one, inside the south side of the south east entrance, has collapsed completely, and one in the middle of the north west entrance is reduced to a stump.." We were entering by the north west entrance. "..Take care not to cut the corner, but when you have identified the beacon approach with the south point of Insh Island astern, to pass about 30 metres south of the beacon.." I asked Paul to read it through too (on the basis that it's always good to have someone else to share the blame if it all goes pear-shaped) but what neither of us realised was that the beacon referred to in the second quote is not either of the two in the first quote but is a third beacon, on Seil, not mentioned elsewhere in the text.

So, with Paul rock-spotting on the foredeck and me with one eye on the sounder, we trickled cautiously into Easdale Sound a carefully judged 30 metres outside the channel! Paul saw plenty of rocks to port and to starboard but I never saw less than 1.5m under the keel and we congratulated ourselves on our pilotage as we dropped anchor by the slate wharf. [As an aside, all this was conducted under the watchful gaze of the skipper of the only other vessel anchored, who was sunning himself on his foredeck. You know who you are, and so do we and if ever we can do you a good turn..]

We blew up the dinghy and went ashore on Easdale. The grand tour doesn't take ower long and we had a pint in The Puffer (that's another one ticked off the list) before returning to the dinghy. The tiny ferry was just coming alongside in the tiny harbour and the ferryman hailed us "Are you Silkie?" Expecting at the very least some gruff words of praise from this ancient mariner in recognition of our seamanship we coyly owned that we were. "You were bloody lucky" quoth he and he patiently explained to us the error of our ways while lamenting the fact that he was probably talking himself out of a salvage fee when we took our departure. We mumbled our thanks and returned aboard.

The wind had returned and so we weighed anchor (the holding is not good in the Sound) and picked up the mooring instead. We had arranged to meet a well-known west-coast webmaster with wife in the Oyster Brewery and so after a quick snack we rowed ashore to Seil this time and enjoyed a few pints of their excellent Ferryman's (!) Ale (two ticks on the list in one day). We enjoyed a nightcap or six after returning aboard and were vigorously rocked to sleep in the north westerly swell when we finally turned in at yon time.

Saturday

I rowed ashore to Easdale in the morning to make my donation to the Community Trust for the use of the mooring and bumped into it's Chairman, Donald Melville (a sailor and known to all apparently, as Melon) who was happy to relieve me of my contribution.

The forecast was for N/NW F4/5 maybe 6 later and the same, but more, for Sunday. We decided to head for Loch Aline, reasoning that it should be a good sail back up the Firth of Lorne although the Sound of Mull might be a hard beat and if it did pick up on Sunday at least it would be blowing us homeward. We set off in sunshine again and poled out the genoa as we ran up the Firth in a fresh south westerly. As we approached Lady's Rock there was a lull and the genoa started to look unhappy so I went forward and had a struggle to get the pole off. Paul later claimed that we were making sternway momentarily. By the time I regained the cockpit Paul was already hauling in sheets as fast as he could and we were hard on the wind in a north westerly F4.

With a reef in the main and full genoa we were making good speed through the water (though not quite as fast as I would have expected - more of this later) and had made such good time running that the ebb was still against us and we were achieving less than three knots over the ground. We just managed to stay clear of the worst of the swirly bits between Lady's Rock and Mull and the tide turned shortly after.

The sun was long gone now and the wind was really picking up. We took a few rolls out of the genoa. With wind and tide opposed we were starting to labour in the short seas. We were over-pressed, making a lot of leeway and should have taken in the second reef but we didn't have enough drive as it was. This is of course the classic dilemma of the small boat; how long can you continue to carry the sail you need to make progress to windward in a rising wind and sea? The smaller you are, the sooner comes the point where the forces can't be balanced but it was more than that - Something Was Not Right.

Paul said later (he's a great one for saying later) that we should have hove-to and thought things through and with the benefit of hindsight this would indeed have been an excellent course of action. We might well have sussed the problem - have you? As it was, we struggled on, exchanging meaningful glances and probably making good less than a knot in the direction of our destination until I finally said,

"Well, what do you think?"

"You're the skipper" replied the mate.

"We sail for pleasure!" I quoted. "Bear away."

The next couple of minutes did not go entirely to plan. We were, for a moment or two, just a teensy bit out of control and it was left to the ship to look after her crew (rather than the other way around) which she did admirably. Modesty forbids (and my lawyers caution against) the revealing here of the full facts. The brain in crisis mode is too busy dealing with events to have much spare capacity for recording them anyway and this too makes revealing the full facts difficult.

When we got ourselves sorted out (good teamwork here BTW if you read this Number One) we went hurtling along on what Paul later described as a "screaming reach" and the fact that our hearts were in our mouths was probably the only thing that stopped this being literally true. We were still over-pressed but well under control again (I think!) and setting a new all-time speed record. There wasn't a lot of attention to spare for reading instruments but the GPS recorded 7.1 knots and I saw 7.6 on the log.

Lady's Rock came up again in what seemed like minutes having spent well over an hour slogging away from it in the opposite direction and it was Paul who suggested dropping the main. This seemed like an excellent idea given that we were about to go through against the current for the second time in only a couple of hours and with the wind also against the tide on this occasion the overfalls did not disappoint. I was glad it was closer to neaps than springs. We lurched through under genoa and continued scudding at over five knots all the way into Oban Bay. The sun came out again and we broke my normal dry sailing rule with a well deserved beer.

As we headed south past Oban we passed a humungous billionaire's toy at anchor and almost filling the channel. This (I later discovered here) turned out to be the 90m Lurssen-built Air, possibly on her way to her new owner.

As we circled in Little Horseshoe Bay, Kerrera the VHF crackled.

"Yacht preparing to anchor in Little Horseshoe Bay this is Balchis [spelling guessed] over."

The skipper and crew of Balchis had set off for a walk to Gylen Castle and were on a ridge above us with a handheld VHF and some timely advice about the position of their anchor. We eventually anchored in less water than we needed for the expected fall of tide but when Balchis left (they were only awaiting sufficient water for Loch Feochan) we re-anchored and settled down for the night. Much fat was chewed regarding the day's events but The Problem remained undiagnosed.

Sunday

The plan was to nip down to Puilldobhrain for lunch (a pint in the T'n'T) and head over to Loch Spelve for the night. Paul has sailed through this area several times but has never had the time to explore it and since we hadn't managed Tiree (the original plan) I thought we might as well plough as many of the "inside" anchorages as possible.

We were followed in to Puilldobhrain by a salty-looking ketch and her skipper hailed us in an American accent while we tested our holding,

"Where's a good place to anchor in here?"

"Anywhere you like," we replied "the depth is constant and the holding good."

"What about the path?"

"Land where the weed is cleared and follow the shoreline. You'll see the signs."

As she passed we saw her stern; Patience Boston Ma.

We listened to the 1320 forecast, N/NW F5/6 for Monday, and strong wind warnings too (never been quite sure how that works) and cancelled Loch Spelve.

We blew up the dinghy and were ashore just moments before the crew of Patience and so we walked over the hill in company to the T'n'T where we shared a few with her skipper, Hugh Dundee and his crew of the moment, John Andrews. Hugh regaled us with tales of his 32 day Atlantic crossing in Patience, a 30' Cape Dory, and his earlier two and a half year circumnavigation. We returned aboard with him for a wee goldie. It's one of the little-known advantages of sailing a 22 footer that we are always being invited aboard others' vessels but rarely is a reciprocal invitation taken up!

Monday

The day dawned wet, windy and grey but as we motored out of the anchorage the wind dropped away. It seemed obvious that this was only a temporary lull and we decided to reef the main as we raised it. Paul struggled with this in the left-over sea slopping around. He couldn't get a good shape in the sail and as he tried to tension the halyard I noticed the boom jump up an inch or so on the gooseneck track. We decided to continue back up to Little Horseshoe Bay and put in for repairs.

Once in shelter the problem was obvious. The leech line cheek block was too far forward on the boom and wasn't putting enough tension on the foot of the sail. It was clear that I had done no better when reefing on the Saturday (it shames me to admit that I hadn't noticed) and we had been trying to go upwind in F5/6 with a bag for a mainsail. We made the necessary adjustments and between us managed to sweat up the reefing line to give a beautiful flat main at the second reef point. However it seems unlikely that I would be able to get as much tension on if single-handed and I will need to re-think Silkie's reefing arrangements.

Once out into the Firth of Lorne again we enjoyed a boisterous F5 reach back up to Dunstaffnage and ran into the bay before rounding up to drop sail. The final entertainment of the weekend was provided by our neighbour leaving in his newly acquired and massively built Banjer 37 motor sailer as we enjoyed a post-cruise beer in the cockpit. With 100hp on tap it was as well that he didn't use full throttle before discovering that he still had a stern line on or we (and everyone else on the pontoon) might have enjoyed another cruise!

Thanks for the weekend Paul. I still haven't managed to reproduce the harbour stow you put on the mainsail. You'll have to come again so I can take notes next time!

Miles this trip 56

Miles this season 260 (s/h 93)

Just Pics

Thanks to Milan.

Norman Nopals Sails Again

Pleased with the success of my single-handed trip to Puilldobhrain and wanting to try it again in slightly (ever so slightly) more interesting conditions I set off on Saturday for Tobermory with the wind forecast to go to F4/5. We were barely out of Dunstaffnage Bay and I was up at the mast hoisting the main when Silkie started to bear away on to a run; the pin securing the tillerpilot to the tiller had pulled out. I stuck it back in and continued but when it happened again on two consecutive tacks I decided to put back in for repairs.

Every cloud has a silver lining though. Back at the marina, I made a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea before starting work and ran out of gas. I had a spare in the car and would have been too mean to buy another if I'd got to Tobermory before running out, since a cylinder lasts me a whole season. Epoxied the pin back in and decided to catch the tide on Sunday morning. Made a new panel to house the switchgear and VHF so the time wasn't entirely wasted.

I was determined to sail as much as possible but didn't allow enough time to tack over to Lismore in the light winds the next morning so the flood was well established (a couple of days before springs) and we went barrelling through between Lismore and Lady's Rock on a broad reach with over 8 knots showing on the GPS.  The wind was doing it's famous blowing-from-both-ends-and-meeting-in-the-middle trick in the Sound of Mull so we were on a run up to the entrance to Loch Aline, motored through ten minutes of calm and then started tacking - all without changing course (well you know what I mean).

I let the tillerpilot do most of the steering to try to figure out it's foibles and I've some way to go before getting the tacking down pat. Silkie does heave-to nicely, it has to be said. The breeze freshened as we approached the dog-leg at Salen and it was interesting (!) to see the tillerpilot extended and quivering as it countered the weather helm. Reef earlier or pay more attention to sail trim maybe? I still haven't had to reef while on my own and that's something else I'm looking forward to (not). We don't have any truck with that new-fangled all-lines-led-back nonsense on the good ship Silkie! Motored in through the Doirlinn and tied up at the pontoons. All-in-all it had been a good sail in varied conditions. It had taken nearly 8 hours but (apart from leaving and arriving) I'd only done 10 minutes motoring (when I could see that there was wind ahead) and had kept sailing even when the speed dropped below 2 knots. We'll gloss over the thunder and lightning .. and the hailstones only lasted ten or fifteen minutes.

I'd decided to leave at high water 0620 on the Monday for the return trip and listened to the 2120 forecast suggesting NW F2/3/4 (always open to interpretation since we're on the border of the Caledonia and Minch forecast areas) which is one of the few directions which hold out the hope of a consistent wind in the Sound of Mull. Got up the next morning and listened to the 0520 forecast to hear that the wind was to be S/SW F5-7 and no mention of a North wind for the next 48 hours. Where did that come from? I've got into a spot of bother before by not believing the forecast but set off anyway, as planned, ot 0615. It rained that steady, vertical rain that the west coast does so characteristically and so persistently but there was not a breath of wind (didn't even bother to raise the main) and I listened to the drone of the outboard (relieved only momentarily by switching tanks) all 26 miles back to Dunstaffnage.

The joys of sailing!

Miles this trip 60

Miles this season 204 (s/h 93)

Silkie's First Sail of the Season

Went up to the boat last Tuesday to complete the few remaining (pre-sailing) jobs. This was very satisfying since they were already about 95% done and as a result a great deal appeared to be completed in only a few hours. Finished wiring up the Christmas tree, as the mast will henceforth be known. Regular readers of this nonsense will remember that I have installed (thanks Kenny) a new VHF aerial, windex, tricolour, steaming and deck lights - some tinsel and a few coloured baubles are all that's required to complete the effect.

Went out for a few hours shakedown on Thursday which went well and although a couple of items disintegrated there were no serious problems. The big news is that I did this single-handed. Although this is the start of my third season and I'm quite happy to sail with only a total novice for crew, I have a bit of a mental block about single-handing. This was actually starting to blight the rest of my sailing during the course of last season and my feelings of inadequacy seemed to be self-stoking. The more I prevaricated the more insurmountable the problem seemed to become.

Bumped into a friendly diver I'd met at the end of last season, who'd helped me un-step Silkie's mast (the joys of a small boat) and had also retrieved one of my bronze fairleads which had ended up at the bottom of Dunstaffnage Bay (a bit of weather had ripped it out of the rubbing strake - honest). By way of a thank you I'd said "If ever you fancy a sail..." and it appeared that he did, so we went out for a couple of hours on the Friday morning. Conditions were very gentle and I'm sure he would have appreciated a bit more adrenalin since he also owns a 30+ knot rib but overall he seemed pleased with this new experience.

Having dropped him back at the marina and since the forecast remained benign, I decided to strike again while the iron was still hot and attempt my first single-handed overnight. I toyed with the idea of anchoring at Easdale, the new micro-brewery at Ellenbeich being the main attraction there but settled instead for Puilladobhrain for several reasons. Firstly, I know it well and it's very sheltered. Secondly, it's not too far should the weather take a turn for the worse and thirdly I was banking on it not being busy on a non-bank-holiday Friday night. One possible scenario which concerned me was how I'd keep things under control in the event of the anchor failing to set at the first attempt should there also be a couple of dozen other boats already anchored.

We set off in the early afternoon in light winds and although we managed five knots for a while, most of the time we struggled to maintain three. Persevered under sail however and reached the anchorage at about 1700. Deep Joy! There were only three other boats there before us. As we motored in under tillerpilot I went forward, prepared the anchor and flaked out about 20m of chain on deck. Decided there was no need for any of that circling-while-peering-at-the-echo-sounder business, knocked the tillerpilot off, engine in neutral, coasted round in a big curve to end up parallel to a Sigma 41, stuck the tillerpilot back on (on standby) to lock the rudder, put the engine into reverse at tickover, went forward and heaved the hook over just as Silkie started to move astern. Returned to the cockpit and peered around, we were holding. Left the engine at tickover for a while and then increased revs, still no movement. Killed the engine, opened a beer and inhaled it in sixty seconds flat while basking in the glow of self-satisfaction at having achieved something new and worthwhile with no great difficulty.

Sorry to have rambled on with the minutiae of something which is probably an everyday event for most of you but this really was a Big Moment for me. Made dinner and went over the hill to the T'n'T (again! - I'm starting to become a weel-kent face in there) where I fell in with the crew of Koala, the big Sigma. Must give them a plug (why not visit their website Koala Sailing for all your sail-training needs?) since they were generous with the whisky on our return to their boat later in the evening. They were also kind enough to compliment my anchoring technique when I confessed that it was my first time single-handed.

After a leisurely start to Saturday, I weighed anchor in the late morning and started to motor out under tillerpilot. I was standing on the foredeck washing the mud off the anchor and chain when two of my neighbours at Dunstaffnage came in line astern and I gave them a casual all-in-a-day's-work kind of a wave. Conditions were almost windless and though I was tempted to carry on and complete a solo circumnavigation, supplies were running low and so I motored back towards Dunstaffnage. The wind picked up a bit as we passed the entrance to Oban Bay and I finished my first solo mini-cruise on a dead run with the genoa poled out goose-winged (another first - thanks Donald & Dave) and the tillerpilot on whilst lying back sunbathing in the cockpit. Bliss!

An Atlantic Circuit next, I think!

Miles this trip 42

Miles this season 144 (s/h 33)

My First Sail of the Season

Following the debacle of attempting (read failing) to prepare Silkie for the Chentleman's Cruise (see Just One of those Days) I was lucky enough to secure a berth on Avilion an Etap 30. The painful events of the Thursday evening have already been covered in Walking on Water and so I start here with the first sailing day.

First a map covering most of the area sailed. There is a larger version here which is easier to read. Drumbuie is between Oronsay and the Morvern Peninsula, Puilladobhrain is an inlet on the west side of Seil and Craobh is just off the map to the south.

Day 1 - Friday 29th April

The forecast was for SW F6/7 easing later and this had been enough for a change of plans from a southbound itinerary to a northbound one. The tidal gate at Cuan Sound dictated a lunchtime departure and so we set off from Craobh at 1330. We got a bit wet heading over to Cuan but it wasn't until we got out into the Firth of Lorne that we were exposed to the full force of the SW wind and the resultant seas and our course for the Sound of Mull put both these on the port quarter. We were far from being under-canvassed with two reefs and half the genoa in the frequent gusts over thirty knots. It was the first sail of the season for all of Avilion's crew and each had his own period of "quiet contemplation" as we came to terms with the lively motion.

The wind seemed to ease as we approached the Sound of Mull and although shaking out a reef was discussed we decided to wait until we turned the corner. This was a good move as it transpired, since the wind was howling straight down the Sound and two reefs was still entirely appropriate and remained so for the rest of the day. Hadn't we headed North to avoid a hard day on the wind?

We'd caught up with Claymore, the Cruise Director's chunky motor-sailer which had left from Loch Melfort, as we came across the Firth and had been more or less keeping station with another salty-looking little boat which was going well in the conditions, a "V" on the mainsail leading to speculation that it was a Vancouver. Finally the penny dropped; "I wonder what an Albin Vega has on the sail?" Out came the binoculars and, sure enough, it was Fairwinds, from Seil Sound, the third vessel in the fleet.

And so we bashed on (wind still gusting over thirty knots) for the rest of the afternoon and evening until it was time to fire up the engine and sneak in to Tobermory through the Doirlinn, Calve Island, at about 2130 with less than a metre under the keel.

After we had tied up alongside the shiny new fendered pontoons we went ashore and managed to find an establishment prepared to feed and water us until 0200 though the friendly welcome up to that point was sharply contrasted by the vigour of the chucking-out technique thereafter.

Day 2 - Saturday 30th April

The day dawned fair though none of the Cruisers were astir to see it and a pleasant morning was passed milling around on the pontoons, inspecting each others' vessels and taking photos of the Waverley.

 Our skipper spotted a problem with Fairwinds rig, to wit, her forestay was hanging on to her stemhead fitting by the skin of it's teeth, and the Tobermory Rigging Team swung into action. For a "Committee Job" it went remarkably well and within a couple of hours Fairwinds was fit for sea again. Plans to circumnavigate Mull had been curtailed by the forecast for the following day and we set off for Loch Sunart in the early afternoon, encountering this monster on the way.

This image doesn't do justice to the size of the ship since Avilion is actually much further from her and much closer to the camera position than this photo would seem to indicate.

We anchored under sail at Drumbuie and this must count as one of my favourite sailing moments from the cruise as the three boats slid into the bay to drop anchors in the silence.

The wind dropped right away as we left Drumbuie for Loch Aline and Avilion and Fairwinds resorted to the iron tops'l while Claymore persevered with her spinnaker.

We reached Loch Aline by the middle of the evening and anchored up. The other crews went ashore to the pub but we stayed aboard to sample the delights of Dave's selection of fine malts. I had the location of a Glenlivet BOB (bottle over board) in my GPS but although it was less than a cable distant no-one fancied a midnight swim on this occasion and we turned in early(ish).

Day 3 - Sunday 1st May

Another boisterous day, though Loch Aline itself is well sheltered and again we started with a spot of boat maintenance. This time it was a yacht moored nearby. We had noticed that her boom was unsecured and her mooring chain had jumped off the bow roller and was sawing away on the gelcoat.

We headed out into the Sound of Mull (southbound for Puilladobhrain) to be greeted by driving rain and F6 on the nose again, two reefs in the main again and the little ball in Avilion's inclinometer bouncing jauntily on the end stop again. It eased after a while but remained gusty for most of the day. This time we headed across the Firth of Lorne into Oban Bay and took the inside route down Kerrera Sound. Claymore stopped at Oban Yachts for showers  while Fairwinds headed straight for Puilladobhrain from the Sound of Mull. Avilion had an entertaining moment in the confines of Kerrera Sound when an unexpectedly violent gust caught her from an entirely unexpected direction and turned Heather Island into a dangerous lee shore while we sorted ourselves out!

Avilion arrived first (again) to an already crowded anchorage and her crew settled back with refreshments to watch the fun as the others arrived. Claymore put on a particularly fine show, requiring several attempts at setting the hook amid hoots of derision and cries of "Is it true there are four yachtmasters and an RNLI cox on board that vessel?" The anchorage looked alarmed.

After making the time-honoured trek over the hill to the Tigh-an-Truish we cleared their side room with our lively bonhomie and pushed the tables together. We ate, drank and were merry.

Details start to become a little hazy at around this point though John's monologue relating Claymore's encounter with Cleit Rock stands out as a high point. I also have a nightmarish vision of himself standing on the table and baring his hairy **** but I'm pretty sure I must have imagined this; there were ladies present after all even if they were honorary Chentlemen. Steve deserves a medal for getting us out of the pub before closing time and all eleven cruisers repaired to Avilion for the end of cruise party. Details omitted to protect the guilty.

Day 4 - Monday 2nd May

It was 0530 before I dinghied the last party-goers home to Fairwinds and so it was another leisurely start for the crews of Avilion and Fairwinds. Claymore could not afford this luxury since her crew all had much further to travel home and she took her departure in the morning, a first for the Chentleman's Cruise. Avilion and Fairwinds set off in brilliant sunshine for a cracking F4 beat back to Cuan. Fairwinds went though Easdale while Avilion went outside and we enjoyed a brief tacking duel, with Avilion just getting the edge on the last board before entering the Sound. All too soon we were tied up in Craobh.

I suppose all good things must come to an end but this was an outstanding event in several ways. As the first cruise of the season it was a bit of a baptism of fire with a wonderful mixture of conditions spread over 4 days and 102 miles from the challenge of 30 knots on the nose to the idyll of daybreak in Puilladobhrain. As a social event it was surely an unqualified success. How often do you get to meet ten new people and find them all simpatico? I suppose the natural self-selection of the forum helps.

Anyway, my thanks to Dave, skipper of Avilion, for inviting a couple of passengers like Donald and myself to crew on his fine vessel (none of us had ever previously met each other or anyone else on the cruise). Thanks also to John, Cruise Director and skipper of Claymore for organising the event and to Douglas, Jim, John and Steve, his motley crew for all their nonsense (and a new crewing opportunity?) Last but not least thanks also to Nick, skipper of Fairwinds and purveyor of blogging facilities to the impoverished yottie and to his delightful crew, Kathy and Jill (the hardest-working harem on the high seas) not least for the fabulous fry-up on Monday morning.

Ain't Life Grand!

Miles this trip 102

Miles this season 102

Walking on Water - A Cautionary Tale

Having been encouraged by another YBW forumite I have decided to reveal to the sailing world what a complete prat I am in the hope that this will lessen the chances of a worse fate befalling others.

The Incident:

Drove up to Craobh last Thursday to crew on Avilion in the Chentleman's Cruise. Arrived about 2100, met skipper Dave, stowed gear, second crew member Donald arrived and we were having a welcome aboard drink when Dave's 'phone rang. Claymore's crew were in the Lord of the Isles and our presence was requested. The craic was convivial and I had 3 Piper's Gold in fairly short order bringing my drinks total to 4ish for the evening. The party broke up after discussing sailing orders for Friday.

Donald went to the car park for his gear while Dave sped off down the pontoons which were in complete darkness owing to an electrical fault. I hurried along after Dave, he turned to starboard onto Avilion's finger, I cut the corner and fell in the water. Dave didn't hear the splash as I hit the bracing waters of Craobh Haven in April and Donald was probably 10 or 15 minutes behind. Details of the next few seconds/minutes are slightly blurred but after first pushing myself under the water a couple of times to get a "bounce" back up I managed to drag myself out by getting my elbows on the pontoon and my right leg up and around a cleat which I used to lever the rest of me out - I think. I stumbled, dripping, aboard Avilion, stripped off, towelled down, fleeced up and had a large malt.

The Analysis:

It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't had a drink. It's true and it's easy to say but while it plays a significant part, alcohol is not the whole story. I'd not had a lot to drink (by my own degenerate standards anyway) and while my physical functioning was not much impaired (apart from reaction time) my judgement was. I was also on a high from meeting my shipmates and fellow cruisers and looking forward to the weekend's doings and I felt confident and at ease with the world.

My skipper was moving very fast and weaving in a manner which alarmed me (but he was in familiar waters) and I wanted to keep an eye on things (hah!) and so I was going faster than I knew was prudent but hey, I felt confident and at ease with the world.

The pontoons were unlit and Avilion's finger does not have the flared base that all the others do (on any other finger my right foot would probably have found solid pontoon as I cut the corner and you wouldn't be reading this now) but what kind of idiot hurries along an unlit, unfamiliar pontoon after a few drinks?

I was lucky to get out. I'm an old git with a stent and a poor score in post-operative lifestyle improvement and I'm neither fit nor strong. It's possible that I owe my life to the precise freeboard of Craobh's lower than average pontoons; a few inches higher and I might not have had the strength or agility to lift myself out.

Points to Ponder:

I don't wear jeans when sailing, mainly on grounds of comfort, but I'll never wear them anywhere near water again. They are very heavy when wet and seriously restrict your ability to move your legs after the sodden crotch has slipped several inches down your thighs.

I didn't call for help and I'm not sure why. You hear tales of those who are so reserved that they can't do better than "Excuse me!" when in mortal danger but I don't think I'm in that category. I suspect I simply didn't reach the stage where I thought I couldn't extricate myself. The chances of anyone hearing me in an empty, windy, west coast marina at midnight on a Thursday are probably not high. Even had someone heard, how long would it have taken to locate me, bobbing about in the triangle formed by a bow and two sections of pontoon in a blacked-out marina? In most situations though, calling for help must be a priority. It's an MOB and the general principles are the same in a marina as elsewhere.

I could suggest that the wearing of a life-jacket at all times is a good idea but in this case I'm sure that an inflated life-jacket would have made it much harder, if not impossible, for me to haul myself out. It might have kept me afloat for long enough for help to arrive but I had plenty to hang onto anyway. My right leg took a beating (both on the way in and during the scramble out) but while I didn't hit my head on anything, a self-inflating life-jacket might have been my only hope if I had.

The cold didn't seem to be a factor so I guess I wasn't in for very long. The sea temperature was probably about 9 Celsius. On a positive note, I'd always imagined that my dicky ticker would give out if I was plunged into cold water and this didn't happen but perhaps my clothing lessened the shock. I was wearing a light goretex jacket over a dense fleece and ordinary shirt with jeans and deck shoes.

I'll not stop drinking around the water though I'll be a damn sight more circumspect for a while (easy to say now that the Chentleman's Cruise is over but, of course, it's only the start of the season) but I really need to learn to rein in my exuberance when appropriate. Will this be possible? I honestly think that one of the key factors in this little episode was my state of excitement at the upcoming first cruise of the season in company.

So there you have it. Lots for me to think about and perhaps something to give you pause for thought too? Sailing is a risk sport and probably most so when you feel safest.

The Chentleman's Cruise itself was Top Fun but I'll save that for another entry!

Just One Of Those Days

The Plan:

Friday: Drive up to boat with son, couple of beers, early bed.

Saturday: Raise mast, bend on sails, nip up re-bedded deck fittings, finish interior re-assembly.

Sunday: Shakedown cruise, drive home.

The Reality:

Friday: Son drives up to boat with me, have more than a couple of beers for medicinal purposes, late to bed.

Saturday: Raise mast but new forestay seems to be too short, quick trip up mast (many thanks to our neighbour, John, who was working on his own boat Windseeker, a Seamaster 925, in between my requests for assistance) to check that nothing is twisted/fouled. All OK, forestay is too short. Tim (the marina manager who made the forestay with his own two hands and who just happens to walk past as I hail him from the spreaders) is seriously upset at this turn of events (I next saw him returning from another owner's boat having managed to drill a hole in his hand!) and immediately agrees to make another. In the meantime he comes up with a bodge, three links of chain for each half of the split backstay. All the stays can now be attached at the same time (!!!) and the rigging is tensioned. Boom, kicker, mainsheet, mainsail etc go according to plan. Haul genoa up r/r foil  and attempt to roll away but halyard wraps up irretrievably instead and another trip up the mast (thanks again John) is required to disentangle halyard and drop sail again. Notice that halyard swivel is stiffer than it should be and attempt to dismantle but no dice. Gloom descends, hunger sets in and we retire to eat, drink and lick wounds.

Sunday: Black dog lingering, still can't get cap off halyard swivel, tackle the rest of the job list. Surprise! Firing on all cylinders. Nip up deck fittings in 5 minutes. Fit sink in 5 minutes. Fit fiddles in 5 minutes. Wire up VHF in 5 minutes. Turn back to the real problem and the Mark III Improvised Strap Wrench (thanks again John) finally gets the cap off the halyard swivel to reveal caged ball bearings gummed up with dried grease but apparently OK apart from that though I can't figure out how to dismantle the swivel completely. Amazingly, another neighbour appears to say that he has the manual for my r/r system on his laptop and would I care to come and have a look? Sadly he doesn't also have a magic wand and I still can't dismantle the swivel completely or clean the bearings properly although they are much improved. Son drives home. Email Plastimo. Search PBO r2r and find this informative thread which gives lots of other things to think about. Has the shorter forestay changed the halyard/swivel angle enough to cause the problem? Is it a combination of the stiffer swivel and shorter forestay? Check back soon for the next exciting instalment of "Mast Climbs 2005".

Isn't the internet wonderful?

What price the Chentleman's Cruise now?